


Swamp Whiskey

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Series: Cats, the V is silent [5]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16261934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: Theron and Cats celebrate their defeat of Revan and his threat to the galaxy.





	Swamp Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Cats' name is Qazxcv. It's pronounced Cats. The V is silent. (Look. All the names I tried to create were taken so I got frustrated and just did a keyboard pattern. The name stuck)

The party’s in full swing, shouts and music, laughter, all muffled from where Theron is. He’ll join in a minute. Just got to finish off a few more checks…

“Theron!”

Or, maybe not. Theron sighs and turns around. Cats stumbles towards him, bottle in hand.

“You gonna celebrate our win or not?” She trips on a pebble and Theron reacts on instinct, arm out to catch her. She crashes into him and in the process of levering herself off him, almost falls backwards. She stinks. Of swamp and booze and sweat.

“This shit is _strong._ ” She takes a swig from the bottle. “You want some?”

Theron sniffs and recoils. “What the hell is that?”

“Swamp whiskey.”

“Swamp… whiskey…”

“Yeah. Me and some pub and imp guys made it out in the swamp the other month. Republic-Empire relationship building. A couple of the guys put a still together out of bits of old shit lying around. Me and some others gathered the swamp roots. A month later, we got a nice little vintage.” She takes another swig. “Sure you don’t want some?” She shakes the bottle. “We just saved the galaxy…”

Theron looks at Cats like she’s just suggested they run after Lana’s shuttle and defect to the Empire. He looks at the bottle. A few shouts of laughter drift in from the camp, troops celebrating. Ah, why not? They _have_ just saved the galaxy. He takes the bottle and knocks it back.

And almost spits it out. He swallows, thinks he’s going to throw up, holds his breath for a second, then… he’s okay. “That’s…” he coughs.

“Great, right? Really burns.” Cats slaps his shoulder. “Go on. Have another.”

Against his better judgement, he takes another mouthful. Doesn’t burn so much this time. He passes the bottle back to Cats. She sits down, right in the mud, and takes another drink. Two gulps and Theron’s already feeling the effects. He joins her on the ground. The view’s nice from here, down the valley, sun almost set. The sweetness of the jungle and the smoke from the camp’s fires waft around the stench of whatever Cats’ has been rolling in. That’s not fair. He probably smells pretty bad too. The refresher situation is pretty basic, despite the size of the forces deployed here, so none of them have been keeping as clean as they perhaps otherwise would. And they’re in a _swamp_.

They pass the bottle between each other, not talking, just getting steadily tipsy. Or drunk, in Cats’ case. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s… nice. Nice to just take a minute, after all they’ve been through.

Then Cats ruins it by belching so loud a bird gets startled and flaps out of a tree. Cats points at it with her finger, pretends to shoot it.

“You couldn’t make that,” Theron says, scoffing.

“Bet I could.” She goes for her blaster at her thigh and Theron lunges across her, horrified, and puts his hand on hers.

“I take it back. You definitely could.” He’s at an awkward angle, leant across her, hand on hers. She looks at him and the challenge is gone, replaced by something softer. Their faces are uncomfortably close to each other. He looks away and pushes himself up, takes the bottle from her.

“You held your own out there,” he says, changing the topic in the hope of distracting them both from their fleeting contact. “You’re really good.” He means it, too.

“I know.” She sounds wistful.

He’s starting to feel lightheaded so his brain decides to plough on with whatever it’s trying to say. “But all this spycraft, sabotage, tracking down targets… Not exactly textbook smuggler stuff.”

Cats’ head twists to face Theron. She looks like she’s about to murder him. “ _That’s_ what I’ve been _trying_ to tell you! _You’re_ the one who got me doing all that _shit_.” She shakes her head. “Never should’ve answered that holo,” she mutters.

Theron gulps, knowing just how close she’d been to bowing out completely after Maanan. “Well, you did really well.”

“ _I know_.” She tips her head back and looks at the evening sky. She looks like she’s going to say something, possibly something profound, of the drunken type. Instead she points. “Look, that light. That’s Lana’s ship.”

Theron looks to where she’s pointing, sees a speck moving across the sky. He eyes Cats. Has she got implants he doesn’t know about? ‘Cause he can only barely see the pinprick of silver. Cats turns and catches his glance. She’s close, so close, and then Theron’s vision goes sideways and he falls, lands on his back with a wump. His view of the sky, of Lana’s ship, is replaced by Cats’ face. Her mouth is on his; she kisses him, hard. Takes a moment for him to realise that she’s sitting on him, and that she’s heavy. Then his traitorous hands find her ass.

She pulls back. “Wanna fuck?”

Theron’s lips throb. “Here?”

“Good a place as any.” She sits up, puts her hands on his abs. His shirt got rucked up in the tumble and her fingers find their way under, warm on his skin. His eyes roll closed and his dick starts to take an interest. He didn’t think she liked him, and he knows he’s halfway to being drunk. She’s more than halfway, though.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Theron Shan. We just saved the galaxy from some reincarnated jedi-sith guy who wanted to wrestle with an incorporeal emperor guy, who wants to eat the entire galaxy. I want to celebrate, and the only other person I want to celebrate with just jumped into hyperspace, so you’re who I’m left with. Good enough?” She didn’t slur any of her words. Shit, not even Theron thinks he could manage ‘incorporeal’ while sober.

He looks at Cats looming above him. Her hands are warm on his skin, ass heavy on his crotch. She’s ridiculous. But she’s right. They should celebrate. And it’s not like they’re going to see each other again.

He sits up, leaning on one hand, and takes two long pulls from the swamp whiskey bottle. Then they’re on each other, pulling off clothes--trying to pull off clothes. Boots and trousers pose a stumbling block that almost proves to be their downfall. He’s got one boot off and his pants stuck around his thighs when he says, “This is good enough.”

“No. All or nothing.” And Cats tugs his other boot off.

Well then.

Shirts are easy at least. Finally naked, half on their discarded clothes, half in the muddy dirt, Cats pounces, pushing Theron till his back hits the ground. He pulls her in to kiss her, run his hands over her back, but she pulls away.

“Wait.” She yanks his jacket out from under him and puts it on.

It shouldn’t look so hot on her. A bolt of lust surges straight through him. “Come here.”

They’re all bruising kisses and grasping fingers, bodies pressed against each other, grinding, skin to skin. When’s the last time Theron did this? Just let go? He can’t remember, and that’s enough to tell him he needs whatever this is.

She sits up and jerks his dick in the most erratic way possible, and somehow the offbeat tempo feels good. Better than good. Great. He digs his fingers into her ass and lets her do her thing, but he pulls her away before he can come. He kisses her, kisses her breasts, her nipples, pulls her forward, kisses her neck, jaw, lips. She’s salty with sweat. If she--they--didn’t stink so bad, he’d go down on her. Or, pull her up so she could straddle his face. He settles with shoving his hand between them. He strokes her the best he can. He’s pretty sure this isn’t his finest work, but she grinds against him, against his hand, her breasts rubbing against his chest and she’s gripping his shoulder soon enough, shuddering, lips pressed to his neck as she comes.

She lies on top of him for a moment. Completely on top of him. She’s heavy and heaves long breaths as he feels his own chest compressing from her weight. His back itches from… something and there’s a sting in one ass cheek like he’s been bitten by a bug. She sits up, then, and grabs his dick, hard, and he groans. She shoves him in, no style, and starts riding him. She’s all over him, rough, hot kisses against his neck, his jaw, his lips. He thinks he can taste blood but the tang goes as fast as the thought.

Cats rides him hard, slamming down on him, barely in control of her own tempo. Her breasts bounce up and down between his open jacket--she’s still wearing it. He manages to cup one breast, her nipple hard against his palm. She feels fucking great. _He_ feels fucking great. He slips his hand up and holds onto her shoulder. He meets her thrusts with thrusts of his own. He’s getting closer, closer--

He comes suddenly, without warning, going from almost there to _right now_. The built up tension of the last few months--from Tython, Korriban, Manaan, Rishi, Yavin Four--pours out of him like a burst dam, leaving him completely empty. His body sags into the mud and Cats flops on top of him again. His dick slips out, soggy and squashed between them.

Cats groans. It sounds like a contented groan. Theron strokes her back, under the jacket.

“That was--” They both say it at once.

Cats sits up after a minute, smiling. Her hair’s a mess, strands come out of its tie. Her eyeliner is smudged. There’s mud on her cheek. Theron tries to wipe it off with his thumb but it sticks.

“That jacket looks really good on you,” he says.

“I'm keeping it.” She cups his jaw, runs her thumb along his lip. He bites it, lightly.

Cats laughs. The laugh turns into a giggle. Theron laughs too, not knowing why. Euphoria bubbles up and he can’t stop giggling. Cats loses her balance and falls off. Theron twists around and lies next to her, kisses her feather-light as they laugh, then longer, slower as the giggles die down. He runs his hand up her side, cups her breast and thumbs her nipple. She grinds against him, slowly. He rolls her and settles half on her, still kissing, still stroking. They go slow, exploring each others’ bodies, unhurried. He figures out that she likes his lips on her nipples, so he kisses them a while, alternating between the two. She grabs his hair in her fist and he shivers from the sting.

He makes her come again, his fingers on her clit and his lips on her nipple.

She strokes his dick, slower this time. Just as firm. She seems keen to keep going, and his dick is keen too, Theron notices. He hasn’t been able to get it up for a repeat performance this quick since he was a teenager. He slips in, smooth, and he thrusts, easy and gentle. She wraps her ankles around his legs and buries her hands in his hair, his neck. He breathes her in. His ass still stings, and whatever’s bitten him is biting its way up his back, too, but he tries to ignore it, concentrate on the moment, the pleasure. He actually has a chance to enjoy his orgasm this time, the long, languid pleasure flowing out through his veins, all the way to his fingers and toes. He sighs.

They lie together for a moment, then a shout from nearby startles them. They’re in damp dirt, on the edge of a swamp on Yavin 4. It’s still hot and muggy, even though the sun has long since set. There are other people around here, though fewer than when Cats had wandered over.

Theron climbs off and kneels in something soft and slippery. Urg. Cats rolls away and sits up.

“That was…”

They look at each other, eyes locked, then they look away. Theron clears his throat, his cheeks hot. Cats starts gathering her clothes, pulling on her trousers and boots. Theron does the same. He doesn’t look at her. He’s not sure what just passed between them, but knows it felt suspiciously like a moment. _That_ kind of moment.

Cats is on her feet first. She grabs the bottle of swamp whiskey. It managed to stay upright the whole time. “Thanks,” she says, nodding at Theron and raising the bottle. Then she’s stumbling away. She walks into something--a shrub--swears, then adjusts her course and keeps going. He notices too late that she wandered off with his jacket still on.

Theron drags his hands down his face and stares at the sky. More stars now, bright and white. A few move; the orbital station, a few cruisers. Lana’s star is long gone.

For the best, really.

*

Despite being an adult, Theron feels like a child. Grand Master Satele glares at him. He doesn’t meet her disappointment. He’s feeling bad enough as it is. This hangover is the worst he’s had in a _long_ time; he doesn’t need any more disgust heaped on him.

“You look terrible,” Satele says. “What have you done to yourself? You’ve split your lip. And there’s… mud… in your hair.”

Theron’s hands goes to his hair on reflex and he tries to fix the mess. He never got a chance to glance in a mirror this morning. His back stings, worse than it did last night, but he’s not going to ask any medics what the damage is.

“You’ve got a little--on your neck, too.” The swift change in Satele’s tone, playful and _knowing_ makes Theron instantly blush. His cheeks burn and he curses Cats for giving him what must be one hell of a hickey. He doesn’t even have his jacket to hide behind. “Who was the lucky person, then?”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply. The lucky person herself is walking over, gingerly, like she’s creeping over hot sand in bare feet. She’s wearing his jacket. And she’s still carrying that bottle of swamp whiskey. Did she take it to bed with her?

“Ah.” All the playfulness in Satele’s voice is gone. “Honestly, Theron,” she mutters.

“Hey, Satele,” Cats says. Her voice is rough. “Theron.” She gives Theron the briefest of glances. “You wanted to see me?”

Satele recoils. “What _is_ that?”

“Swamp whiskey.” Both Cats and Theron speak at the same time. Theron blushes again. He looks at the ground. Wishes it would swallow him up. Or better, that the Emperor might turn up and kill them all. Yeah, that would be fine.

“Very well.” Satele stands tall, and Theron knows the small talk is over. He just hopes Cats keeps her mouth shut. “The imperials are leaving a small force behind to watch for any further activity from the Revanites or the Emperor. We will be doing the same.”

“Good idea,” Cats says.

Satele continues, thanking Cats for her exemplary work, but she sounds like she resents every word. Theron still can’t make himself look at her. Or Cats. The ground is good. Solid. Except when it’s swamp and he’s lying in it. _Don’t go there, not now_.

Satele elbows Theron, glares at him. Right. Right. He forces himself to be man and look up. “We’re getting a taskforce up and running to keep an eye on the Emperor, wherever he is. While that’s happening, we’re going to need you out there, following every lead you can.”

“Do you think you can do that, Cats?” Satele asks.

“Yeah, sure, follow leads. I’ll _definitely_ do that.” She definitely won’t. Dammit.

Satele is silent.

Cats shifts from one foot to the other. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to go over there and throw up, then I’m going back to my ship. Thanks for everything. It’s been great. Let’s not do this again though.”

Theron’s not sure if she means _that_ , or the galaxy saving. Either way…

“Thank you, again, Cats. For all your work.” Satele sure is good at being diplomatic.

“Cats, uh, thanks, from SIS, too.”

Cats nods and walks in the direction of a crumbling pillar. She throws up, audibly. Satele sighs. Theron sighs.

*

Risha’s at the holoterminal when Cats and Corso finally make it back to the ship. Corso gives her a look and shakes his head before slipping away. Risha looks Cats up and down. She’s wearing Theron Shan’s jacket, has dirt on her face and hair, her eyeliner is smudged, and she’s carrying a half empty bottle.

“You slept with him, didn’t you,” Risha says, smug. “Theron. The pretty boy.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Cats does another full circuit of the ship before finding her cabin and closing the door.

Risha grins. Bowdaar and Guss just lost the bet. Big time. Collecting her winnings can wait though. She finds Corso in the cockpit--pulling on a pair of trousers?

“Where to?” she asks, ignoring the trouser situation for the moment.

“Casa Cats,” Corso says. He puts in the coordinates for Cats’ parents’ place.

“You’re going to be okay, right?” Risha asks. “With her and him?”

“Me? I’m fine! I may be a simple farm boy, but even I’m not stupid enough to do it in a swamp.”

Risha laughs, and Corso laughs too. He’s fine, she believes him. Cats… well, that waits to be seen.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with art! By the wonderful nsfwfrosch:  
> https://commanderlurker.tumblr.com/post/180209463509/yessss-thank-you-nsfwfrosch-for-drawing-cats-and


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